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She tugs at the university t-shirt she’s wearing with a pair of faded jeans. “Life doesn’t change that much. I was never impressed, and for a long time, I thought money caused more problems than it solved. It seemed that way for Zane and Zarah, and Lark and Kagan. But I only saw the bad side. The greed, the entitlement, the utter violence that comes from being able to afford anything you want. And I mean anything. Like Zarah...or me, I guess. I will never be able to wrap my mind around the fact that if you’re rich enough, you can buya person.An actual human being. When we met, I gave Zane a hard time for being rich when I grew up poor. Reverse discrimination didn’t make me right, it only turned me into a different kind of snob. I’m always having to remind myself to relax, that life doesn’t have to be so serious. Surprisingly, the best thing about having money,” she drops her voice, “is the primo booze.”
I laugh. That wasn’t what I expected her to say.
“Zane got a shipment of beer from Ireland. Do you want to try some?”
I’m completely charmed. “That sounds great.”
I pull up to my apartment building bone-dead tired, but that’s something that won’t change anytime soon. I’m glad Pop didn’t want to celebrate Thanksgiving, and Zarah never mentioned celebrating the holiday, either. I guess things don’t feel very festive right now, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they decided to keep things low-key.
Zarah and I walked the woods after dinner, and it was romantic despite the cold. The dogs had a great time playing hide and seek in the dark.
We sat on a log and kissed a little. It’s nice not hopping into bed two minutes after meeting someone. I like courting her, whispering naughty things into her ear and watching her blush.
I told her bits and pieces of what Zane and I talked about, and tears filled her eyes when I said he wouldn’t pressure her to date other men.
That made me happier than it should have. Selfishly, I’m the only man I want her to want.
The house was dark and still when we walked back, and I could tell she wanted to invite me to her room but in the endcouldn’t dredge up the courage to issue the invitation. I would have declined anyway. I would have fallen asleep in her bed and come morning that would have looked bad for everyone.
On the drive home, I slid my windows down, the chilly air keeping my eyes open. Baby liked it too, sticking her head out, her tongue flapping. I haven’t worked out in a while, either, and she’s probably missing our runs. I need to carve time into my schedule, or it won’t be long before Zanewillbe able to kick my ass.
Baby trudges across the parking lot, the run through the woods catching up with her. She loves the forest though, and I bet she wouldn’t miss me at all if she stayed at the country house for a while.
The glass door slams shut and the sharp sound bounces against the brick walls and metal staircase.
A figure is sitting at the top of the stairs near my door, and she looks up. Tears streak her little face, and despite her thick jacket and a knit hat covering her hair, she’s shivering violently in the cold.
“Are you lost?” I ask gently. She could be a runaway looking for a warm place to hide, but the hallway in my building isn’t heated.
Tears make her voice squeak. “Are you Mr. Davenport?”
I am, for all intents and purposes, but I think she’s looking for Pop. I nod to move things along.
“I heard my mom talking to you on the phone. She said she didn’t want to talk about my sister.”
The hairs on the back of my neck start to prickle.
“My sister would never kill herself.” She drags her sleeve under her nose, her leg bouncing a mile a minute. “She liked to party, and she got into trouble sometimes, but she was going to marry Troy. She loved him. She wouldn’t have killed herself.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” I say it low, soothingly. She’s two seconds away from snapping.
“Meredith Mesa. Savannah’s sister. She didn’t kill herself. I have proof.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Zarah
Zane pushes my door farther open and peers into my room. “Can I come in?”
I’m finishing getting ready for bed, and nervously, I say, “Yeah.”
Whenever Zane wants to talk to me, I always think he has something bad to say. That’s not true—most of the time—but my heart leaps into my throat and I can’t stop it.
He’s still wearing dress pants, a dress shirt, and a matching tie, and he flops onto my bed looking like a model in an ad for a five-star hotel. He grabs one of my stuffed animals and starts throwing it toward the ceiling, then catching it. Throw, catch. The beans in the bear’s butt rattle as he snags it out of the air.
I sit on the bed and rest my chin on his bent knee. It’s almost like old times when he would hang out with me after our parents were killed so I wouldn’t be alone.
He stops throwing the poor bear and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. His hand lingers, his fingertips tracing the line of my jaw. “I’m sorry about my reaction to Willow. I shouldn’t haveflipped out like that. That’s going to be a knee-jerk reaction to anything that has to do with the Blacks. I’ll be better.”